


The One in Which the Avengers are High School Teachers (and the author jumps around in time)

by fanaticalgeek



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticalgeek/pseuds/fanaticalgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has a doctorate, but he's teaching at high school because he enjoys it. When a new phys-ed teacher comes along, will sparks fly?</p>
<p>(The answer is: obviously. As well as a few beakers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One in Which the Avengers are High School Teachers (and the author jumps around in time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SantaMoomin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SantaMoomin/gifts).



Bottles and beakers shatter when they meet the floor, tempered glass no match for force and tile and gravity. Bruce collapsed next to the shards of glass, his knees unable to hold up his weight. His hands clenched and twisted in his own hair, tugging harshly in an attempt to quell his own thoughts.

_He’s only doing this because he pities you. He doesn’t really like you, Bruce. No one likes you._

He flinched violently away when a gentle hand brushed his shoulder. But the hand returned, followed by a softly spoken, “Bruce? It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“…Clint?”

The hand wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him carefully close. “Yeah, it’s me. You need to slow your breathing or you’re going to hyperventilate. Come on, breathe with me.” He breathed slowly and deeply, and Bruce slowly mimicked his actions. “Good. Good, Bruce. I’ve got you.” He pulled Bruce into his side, and Bruce leaned into him with a sigh and a final sob.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Clint hushed. “How about we go to my place and I’ll cook for you instead of going out somewhere? Hmm?” he asked as he ran a hand through Bruce’s hair.

_See? He doesn’t even want to be seen with you…_

“Hey now, I can see that big brain of yours masticating about something. If you still want to go out, I’m more than happy to. I just didn’t think you’d want to be out in public right now. It’s up to you.”

Bruce ducked his head against Clint’s neck. “…Thank you. Your place will be fine.”

“Come on. We should clean up.” He helped Bruce to his feet.

They both startled when they saw the janitor standing in the doorway.

“I’ll take care of this, if you’d like, Dr. Banner,” she said in her quiet way. “You enjoy your evening with Mr. Barton.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” he said with a soft smile at the same time Clint said, “That’d be awesome. Thanks!”

She nodded and smiled at them as they walked past her.

Clint wrapped his arm around Bruce’s waist. “How do you feel about pasta?”

\-----

Bruce was setting up the supplies for the day’s experiment when Clint suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Good morning, Mr. Barton,” Bruce said softly, not glancing up from his beakers.

“I’ve told you to call me Clint, Dr. Banner,” the gym teacher teased.

“Yet you still insist on calling me ‘doctor’.” Bruce finally turned to face his—friend? Were they friends now? Even though friends don’t typically lust after each other… Bruce wasn’t going to show his hand just yet, not when Clint was one of the straightest men on staff. Sure, he flirted, but that was just Clint’s nature.

“Fine. What do you have in store for your classes today, _Bruce_?”

Bruce couldn’t help but grin. “Well, _Clint_ , I’m demonstrating reactions with magnesium in the older classes. What about you? You seem more excited than usual… Archery, I take it?” He smirked. “Close your mouth, Clint, unless you’re trying to catch flies.”

Clint’s mouth snapped shut. “How did you know that?”

Bruce shrugged and glanced away, embarrassed. “I know archery is one of your favorite things. You’re always the most excited on those days.”

“You pay attention…” Clint muttered, and Bruce shrugged. The bell rang then, jarring them out of the awkward silence that had fallen. “Bruce, I would kiss you right now, but I need to get ready for my students. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“See you,” Bruce called hoarsely after him, a blush stealing over his features.

\-----

“So what’s with you and Barton?” Tony asked bluntly.

“What?!” Bruce asked, startled into spilling the coffee he was pouring. He quickly grabbed paper towels and started mopping up the mess. “What are you talking about?”

“You and birdbrain, obviously,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, I’ve seen you making doe eyes at him. And it’s a near constant discussion topic among my students.”

Bruce wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed having this conversation with one of his closest friends or with the knowledge that he was obvious enough for the students to discuss. Either way, he could feel his face flushing bright red. “We’ve just become…friends. That’s all. Nothing more than that.”

Tony raised a sardonic brow. “Uh-huh. And I’m broke and teaching English.”

“ _And_ you don’t have a crush on the history teacher,” Bruce retorted, trying to turn the focus of the conversation off himself.

“ _Alleged_ crush, Brucie. _Alleged_.” He grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. “Besides, this isn’t about me.”

Bruce sighed. “We’re just friends, Tony. That’s all. As much as I may want… it doesn’t matter.”

“Come now, Brucie.” He slung his arm around Bruce’s shoulders. “You just gotta take a chance. You never know what could happen.”

“What could happen is I lose his friendship, Tony. Most straight guys don’t like being hit on by gay chemistry teachers.”

Tony snorted. “Legolas there? Straight? Are you _sure_ we’re talking about the same guy?”

“Stop it, Tony,” Bruce sighed.

“All right, all right.” He let Bruce go. “But I think you’re a fool for not doing anything.”

“You think everyone is a fool.”

“Usually not you, Bruce.”

\-----

The house was small; just the right size for two people. Clint had led the way in his car, so Bruce could leave if he really wanted to, and promptly drug Bruce inside and cooked for him.

As much as he tried to, Bruce was not allowed to help, instead he was instructed to sit down and allow himself to be taken care of. Bruce had reluctantly acquiesced.

Which had led to where they were now, after dinner, curled up together on the couch. Clint had stretched out along the couch and pulled Bruce down to sit between his legs, back to chest.

As some action movie played on the TV—Bruce wasn’t really paying attention to it—Clint had slowly begun running his hand up and down Bruce’s side, occasionally brushing over his chest and abdomen.

Bruce couldn’t help but relax into the obvious affection. His head fell back to rest on Clint’s shoulder with a sigh.

Clint pressed a kiss to the top of his head in response before turning his attention back to the movie.

Bruce could feel drowsiness creeping in as the exhaustion of the day caught up with him. He always felt drained after days when he let his emotions take control. Careful to avoid elbowing Clint, he turned onto his stomach and laid his head on Clint’s chest.

“You’re welcome to stay the night, you know,” Clint murmured as he stroked and scratched gently over Bruce’s back.

Bruce hummed happily, already half-asleep.

“Sleep, Bruce. I’ve got you.”

\-----

Sunlight streamed in through the blinds of their bedroom, late morning light slowly waking Bruce. He ducked his face against Clint’s chest with a grumble, only to be met with a chuckle.

“It’s Saturday, Bruce. I’m not gonna make you get up. I’ve learned by now how much of a not-morning person you are on the weekends. Lazybones.”

“Damn straight.”

He trailed a hand down Bruce’s arm. “If you let me go, I’ll make you breakfast…”

“No. I’m comfortable.”

He chuckled again. “What about coffee?”

Bruce groaned. “Tempting… But no.” He clung tighter, throwing a leg over Clint’s to further ensure he wouldn’t move.

“Fine,” Clint said with false exasperation, burying his hand in Bruce’s hair. “But only if you give me a kiss first.”

“Clint…I’m sure I have morning breath.”

“I don’t care.”

Bruce looked up at him, suddenly serious. “You really don’t, do you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Clint answered anyway, “Of course not. I love you. I love every part of you.”

“Even though I’m a middle-aged scientist teaching high school chemistry?”

“ _Especially_ because you’re a middle-aged scientist teaching high school chemistry. How else would I have met you?”

Bruce propped himself up and kissed his lover, their tongues tangling languidly. “I love you, too,” Bruce murmured as he rolled onto his back and pulled Clint on top of his body, quietly terrified of the depth of his own emotions.

“I know,” Clint whispered back, their bodies moving together in a now familiar dance. “I know.”

\-----

“Don’t you think we’re moving a little fast?” Bruce gasped as he fell against the bed, button-up hanging off his shoulder and his slacks open.

Clint paused, half-naked body poised over Bruce’s. “Personally…no.” He nipped at Bruce’s neck, eliciting a drawn out moan. “But we can stop if you really want to…”

“Fuck no.” Bruce grabbed Clint by the back of his head and devoured his lips.

“Thought so,” Clint growled when he pulled back for air, rubbing his hands through the hair on Bruce’s chest. “Fuck, I love your body. Do you know how crazy you drive me when you wear your damned button-ups with the first few buttons undone? God, there are so many times I had to remind myself we were in school, and I didn’t know how interested you were, to keep myself from tackling you and having you over one of the desks. Or your chemistry table. Or in the lounge.”

Bruce whined, arching below Clint. “Fuck. Are you serious? How much time have we wasted?”

“Enough.” Clint dove in for another kiss. “But we’re not going to waste any more,” he promised. He pulled off Bruce’s slacks and boxers, ordering him to keep the shirt hanging off his shoulders, and leaned down to lick up Bruce’s cock. “Damn, you taste good.”

Bruce writhed as Clint sucked his cock. It had been too long since he’d had anyone touch his body and he was about to go off like a rocket. “Clint,” he panted. “Wait! Wait, stop, please…”

Clint pulled back immediately. “What? What is it?”

“I don’t want to come.” He spread his legs invitingly. “Not yet, anyway.”

Clint groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He stood and shucked the rest of his clothes, rifling through the bedside drawer for the lube and a condom, going ahead and slipping on the latter so he wasn’t fumbling for it later. He coated his fingers with the lubricant before crawling between Bruce’s legs and kissing him, gently caressing and pressing a finger into Bruce’s body.

Bruce moaned and arched, pushing down against Clint’s hand, silently asking for more.

Time had no meaning for them as they moved together slowly, the frenzy from earlier toned down to a slow burning passion fueled by kisses and mutual desire.

Soon, Clint was pushing, thrusting into Bruce’s body, nipping at his neck, and was met with gasps and moans and short nails running down his back. Bruce cried out, body strung tight with arousal and pleasure, before he came, jerking beneath Clint and clenching tightly.

Clint moaned, biting down on Bruce’s shoulder as he followed him into the abyss.

\-----

“Hello. My name’s Clint Barton. I’m the new gym teacher.”

Bruce paused in the door to the teacher’s lounge, arrested by the sight of a very toned, brown haired man in a near skintight t-shirt. He was mesmerized by the way the man’s—Barton’s—biceps strained against the cotton sleeves of the shirt. He was so distracted by the sight and sudden attraction that he missed what else Barton said.

“I’m sorry… What did you say?”

Barton smirked. “I asked if you could show me how to work this coffee machine.”

“Oh. Sure.” He moved closer, holding out his hand. “Dr. Bruce Banner.”

Barton smiled genuinely. “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Banner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for a friend for her b'day. She's the random janitor.


End file.
